NervousMan and the Mean Waiter

NervousMan decided to go somewhere other than the sandwich shop where people made his sandwich in front of him and he ate all alone in the corner.

Instead, he went to the upscale burger joint down the street. It was a little more pricey, but NervousMan wanted to treat himself. Maybe something nice like that would make NervousMan less nervous.

The restaurant was made to look like something out of the 50's. There were many people there. Some singer, maybe it was Chuck Berry, sang on the loudspeaker. The seats cushions were cherry red and the place was very bright and colorful.

Not seeing anyone to seat him, NervousMan sat down at one of the booths.

After a few minutes, a waiter who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties came up and scowled at NervousMan. The waiter had brownish skin and black, slicked back hair. The waiter said something to NervousMan, but NervousMan couldn't really hear the waiter over the music. Perhaps the waiter was asking NervousMan what he wanted to eat.

"Can I get a pastrami sandwich, a side salad, with uhm, ranch dressing, and a large glass of ice water?" asked NervousMan.

The waiter scowled more at NervousMan and took NervousMan's menu. He jotted something on his pad, and then walked away.

Thinking back, NervousMan seemed to think the waiter had rolled his eyes when he took the menu. Had NervousMan done something wrong? Perhaps the waiter didn't like NervousMan.

NervousMan felt nervous.

After a few moments, the waiter came back with NervousMan's salad and a large glass of ice water and sat them down in front of NervousMan. The waiter did not say a word. He seemed to be upset at something. Then, he walked away.

NervousMan looked, for the first time, at how others in the restaurant held their forks. By the side, NervousMan thought, by the side. Not with one's fist, held out way away from one's body, scooping it into one's mouth like a child.

It seemed that NervousMan had seen this lesson once in a movie. Maybe it was the Titanic movie.

The thought of being on the Titanic made NervousMan nervous.

"Nervousness is a constant problem," thought NervousMan. And NervousMan was aware of the problem. Or at least, he tried to be.

NervousMan thought about how he hadn't known how to hold his fork. NervousMan felt that there was a certain logic to dealing with cleanliness issues and things like manners that he just hadn't been taught. Or maybe he had not been paying attention at the time. Or somebody wasn't paying attention. Attention to things like simply how to eat properly. Or something like that.

Why couldn't NervousMan pay attention? What was wrong with NervousMan??

"It is very hard to get a handle on this problem," thought NervousMan as he grasped the fork again and righted himself in his chair and tried to eat his salad. "Just things like my clothes, my hair, my thoughts, he thought. My shoes. My self. All these things are problems", thought NervousMan nervously.

"Hygiene", thought NervousMan. "Hygiene".

NervousMan suddenly felt warm. He took a sip of his ice water. As he did so he saw the waiter behind the counter. Was the waiter smirking at NervousMan? What had happened? Could it be that the waiter did something to NervousMan's water? Or was the waiter thinking of a joke? NervousMan didn't know. And he felt nervous.

NervousMan looked down and noticed that he had spilled some ranch dressing on the front of his shirt.

NervousMan thought more about his hygiene.

"What do I have to do?" thought NervousMan as he reached for a napkin to clean himself. Clean constantly? Spend 90 percent of my time keeping things clean? It exhausts me!

NervousMan felt tired.

As soon as all is clean, thought NervousMan, there is still more cleaning to do. One could spend one's entire life cleaning and still never get things completely clean.

NervousMan thought that he needed a maid. Or maybe a nurse. But NervousMan didn't have much money to hire one.

The waiter came back and gave NervousMan his pastrami sandwich on a white plate. NervousMan looked at the sandwich and regarded the texture of the white bread. The waiter said something to NervousMan that he didn't quite hear and then took his half empty glass of water away.

NervousMan lifted the pastrami sandwich up to take a bite of it. Some of the shredded meat fell out from between the slices of bread and onto the table, and some spilled onto NervousMan's lap.

NervousMan sighed.

Putting the sandwich down and reaching for yet another napkin, NervousMan's noticed that his sleeve had some dressing on it. NervousMan grabbed another napkin.

Perhaps NervousMan should finish his salad first.

The fork slipped from NervousMan's grasp and landed on the sandwich and tumbled end over end onto the floor.

Maybe NervousMan had had enough salad.

The word 'unconscious' appeared suddenly in NervousMan's mind.

NervousMan looked up at the face of the scowling waiter. The waiter sat a full glass of water next to NervousMan and walked away without saying anything.

NervousMan looked down, and frowned.

"The problem is a result of just being raised very badly", thought NervousMan as he grabbed a fourth napkin. "I see very clearly where it comes from" he said under his breath.

But to blame one's parents for not teaching proper manners, or good cleanliness habits, seems like blaming the water that's already flowed under the bridge. Bad parents, yes. Not really bad people. But bad parents. Or, just not very good ones. Or something like that. Maybe it was NervousMan who was bad.

NervousMan didn't know.

Maybe NervousMan had had enough to eat. He sat still for a few moments to collect his thoughts.

NervousMan saw himself as a soul in the before-life and choosing the family he was born into. And it made sense. Considering what sloppy decisions he usually makes. Choosing a weird family and a weird life to live, that was some kind of masochistic, wild, impetuous act. To... to show off, he thought. Like trying to eat the biggest sandwich ever, to impress your friends, and then getting sick on it.

Showing off. That's what it was like, thought NervousMan. Yes, this life is a show-off, thought NervousMan. That's what it is.

NervousMan watched the mean waiter wait on other tables. The waiter smiled pleasantly as he talked to a man in a dark pinstripe suit.

NervousMan imagined the ghostlike faces of the before-souls as they watched him open the door to this life and rush, unthinkingly, inside. They must have snickered at him, like the waiter had.

"Sometimes", NervousMan thought, "there is a fine line between courage and being rash", thought NervousMan.

That was a truth.

But now, there was no way out of it. No way that he could get out of this life.

NervousMan was trapped. And because he was trapped, NervousMan felt nervous.